Artifact ch.8

The day ended with a resounding success, but Harry still had to deal with his wife. And the loan shark. And the Saturday show.

He thought he knew how prepared he was, but in reality, he had no idea.

Somewhere in the night, Harry decided that the best way to celebrate having three wonderful women would be to do it atop a massive pile of gold. He already had the cash from the ministry— a large bag, and every last Galleon was in his favor. He was rich, had complete control over three beautiful women, and was overflowing with the desire to fuck their fertile, beautiful bodies in every way possible. They were all adorned solely for him. Tracey, who previously detested the idea of the outfits he had devised to captivate onlookers, led the charge to wear them. Finally, the Master deserved to have his dolls dressed up.

So, she was dressed in gold, a tight bodysuit that clung to her wet pussy, black stockings on her legs. Little feathers adorned her hat—she looked like a showgirl in Vegas. Her would-be lover, Daphne, wore the same outfit but in red instead of gold, and she had higher heels (she was slightly shorter than Tracey). Her long, voluptuous legs wrapped around Susan's body, and her nipples were as hard as stones.

Susan herself immediately began wearing these outfits—of course, because Harry commanded her to. But out of the three, she had the most "magical" outfit—a parody of a tuxedo with an extravagantly cut neckline and short white gloves that glistened as she slid them up and down Harry's cock. Her top hat lay abandoned on the floor, tossed aside multiple times during their moments of desire.

Fucking for cash seemed obvious, so obvious that he almost felt bad for not doing it right away. But he still had less than twenty-four hours of being a mind controller, a whore of thoughts, a soul-changing wizard who could irreversibly alter the minds of the women he desired. And so, he thought, perhaps he was too harsh on himself, not immediately thinking about having three women suck and adore his cock while he lay on a thick stack of cash on a small spare mattress in his workshop.

It wasn't as if dousing their eager, teasing pussies with his life-giving seed throughout the office and workshop was a complete waste. He imagined that soon they would all be pregnant. They insisted they were done with birth control.

The workshop was more of a warehouse, a large space with a front office and a wide, open area at the back that used to be used for assembling a certain type of furniture. Many pieces of equipment and tables remained from previous owners. Previously, Harry never had the cash to remove them. Now, he had grown accustomed to it all. A kind of dull, rustic look. It suited his temperament. In addition to the old equipment, the warehouse was filled with sorted tricks and illusions belonging to Harry, all the equipment a magician needed to make his performance work, much of it made by the Weasley twins at his request.

Being an illusionist drew crowds. But being a mind magician paid the bills—at least that's what he thought until he changed Hermione's mind, and she ended up paying all his bills.

Now his assistant, Tracey, rubbed her massive, enlarged breasts on one leg. On the other side was his second assistant, Daphne, who used to believe she was completely, secretly in love with Tracey. It was a simple transfer to make Daphne understand that the one she truly lusted after was Harry, and her closeness with Tracey was only meant to encourage Tracey to fuck Harry with her.

After all, Daphne was not enough woman for Harry (or at least that's what Harry led her to believe). The two assistants gazed at him with adoration in their eyes, loving his body, running their tongues up and down his strong abdomen and pelvic bones, occasionally biting with open desire into the thick, muscular flesh of his thighs. Harry was a showman; he had to stay in shape.

But the star of this little show, at least for now, was Susan. She owned the Borgin and Burkes pawnshop, which she inherited from her deceased husband. Now she was Harry's number one slave—only for the time being, when she could suck his cock by herself. Her body was long and slender like a willow, and her skin had a caramel hue. Her hazel eyes were large and pleading as she worked her hot mouth up and down his shaft.

To Harry, they were no longer individuals. They were slaves; they were holes he could fuck and exploit at will. Maybe someday he would change them back. But he doubted it. This is what life was supposed to look like.

"Oh God, do it," Tracey urged Susan as she worked faster up and down Harry's shaft. "Make him come again. I can't believe he's still working hard."

"Me neither," Daphne nodded. "We're lucky to have a Master with such endurance."

Truth be told, Harry was a little tired after a marathon fucking session throughout the night. But every time he held the pendant—the source of all this newfound power—he felt fully revitalized and ready to fuck and fuck these women again (and again).

The pendant was now in his hands. And looking down at the three lovely women beneath him, licking and kissing him, all in their raw and regal beauty completely at his mercy, all he could want was more.

Want more.

Perhaps three were enough, a part of him said. Maybe even just one beautiful woman who would want to suck and worship your cock for the rest of days.

But a larger part of Harry clung to that lofty, high-minded thinking. He wanted more. Why shouldn't he have more? Wasn't he doing these women a favor? They used to be so sad and angry. Tracey, scheming only for personal success and abandoning all loyalty and friendship. Daphne, living in a world of unrequited desire for the woman who would now lick her pussy at Harry's mere suggestion. Susan, mourning her late husband, who would never embrace her again. All of that was forgotten thanks to Harry's work.

And there were so many other women he could improve. Namely, his wife, who soon wanted to become his ex-wife, his sister, and his sister's lover. All three had wronged him. All three could learn something about respect.

Six special cocksuckers, created to adore his greatness. It wasn't too much, was it?

Susan choked eagerly, her eyes filled with pleasure and a hint of fear. Lost in thoughts of teaching those other malicious bitches a lesson, Harry fucked Susan's mouth eagerly, gripping her hair and thrusting his cock into the back of her tight, hot throat. He slowly relented, allowing her to breathe again. She looked both relaxed and a little excited—perhaps they would do it again soon.

Instead, he instructed Daphne to bring the phone. Within moments, it started ringing.

Although impossible, he could practically hear Rose's extended, exaggerated sigh of irritation before his stepsister answered the call. "What do you want, Harry?"

"It's nice talking to you," he immediately got to the point. "What. Do. You. Want?"

"I'd like to meet with you."

"I have nothing to say to you. God, don't you listen to hints, do you?"

Two days prior, Rose had done everything in her power to humiliate and degrade Harry as best she could, essentially disowning him in front of her lesbian lover. It still hurt. It probably wouldn't stop hurting, Harry thought, until he hypnotized her and forced her to give him her male virginity as retribution.

"As far as I recall, you gave me much more than just a hint."

"Well, then you're too stupid to accept anything more than a hint."

"Anyway, I'd like to get to know you. Please." Susan did something amazing and ticklish with her tongue. A long, manic laughter escaped Harry's mouth, and he didn't have time to cover the receiver.

"What the... " He could sense the outrage in her voice. "Are you laughing at me? No, fine. We'll meet. I'm going to tell you something straight to your face, War-ren. At two o'clock. At my place. We'll be waiting."

Harry pushed the phone aside and smiled, looking down at his girls. He withheld his orgasm long enough.

Long enough. And even though he was surrounded by three beautiful women, his thoughts, as he climaxed and drenched their needy, pleading faces with his white, hot semen, were entirely focused on Rose. Beautiful, wonderful Rose, whom he desired for ages—him, dripping with his hot stream, him, moaning orgasmically from the mere touch of his precious cum sliding down her mouth and cheeks.

Auror Nymphadore Tonks cleared her throat multiple times before knocking on the door. It was mid-morning, just past ten, and she couldn't wait to finish this case and get back to her desk. Despite her excitement about finally being in the field, on her own, she also missed the familiarity of her desk. The place where she had control, where there were no twists, and she knew what order to follow.

There was no response from behind the door. She tried again, this time with more force. As she waited, she straightened her back. She was wearing a modest brown pantsuit, a perfectly acceptable outfit for a newly minted police detective, even one as petite and busty as herself.

You're super cool. You're in control. You're a cop. It's just an interrogation. He's probably innocent. You're just asking friendly questions. Friendly questions about assault and robbery.

Well... at least questions.

"Okay," she heard after another round of knocking. "Okay, okay. I'm coming."

Following the voice came a series of giggles—high-pitched, breathless, feminine giggles. The man who opened the door was tall, with long, loose dark hair falling onto his forehead and shoulders. Many gloved female hands tugged at his arms—Nymphadore counted a total of four, three belonging to different women.

Nymphadore tried to hide her disgust bravely. What had she interrupted?

"Harry? Mr. Harry Potter?" She showed him her badge. As she did, her cross bracelet twitched slightly, hanging down. "I have a few questions for you."

"How can I assist you?" He coughed and turned to the side, his face taking on a sharp, authoritative expression.

"Ladies, take a break."

The chorus of responses was clear. "Yes, Master."

He turned back to the detective, an awkward smile on his face. "Apologies for that, officer. It was just a rehearsal. I'm an illusionist, you see."

His body slipped further into the doorframe, revealing his entire broad chest without a shirt. A tuft of dark hair gathered from the center of his chest and cascaded down to his boxers. Nymphadore noticed, trying not to notice, that the tip of his cock was visible through one end of the boxers, semi-hard and dripping onto the floor. The sight sent an unexpected and undeniable shiver through her. "Auror."

"Me? No, I'm just an ordinary citizen. Didn't I mention? Illusions. Magical images. That sort of thing. Did someone tell you I'm an Auror?"

"I am an Auror, Mr. Potter. I am Auror Nymphadore Tonks. Do you understand?"

He laughed nervously, suddenly adjusting his boxers so that his protruding manhood was more covered. "Yes, of course. I apologize." He cleared his throat. "Auror. Of course. I didn't know they make them so... attractive these days."

Nymphadore rolled her eyes, her light blue eyes turning towards the sky. "God, give me strength with this fool."

Potter wouldn't be the first man to dismiss her because of her appearance. She was short, slim, and truly petite. Her body, in its natural form, was perfectly sculpted through quasi-religious dedication to dueling, instilled in her by Moody's training, resulting in her relatively modest 36C breasts looking positively huge on her narrow, delicate frame. It didn't help that her powers allowed her to play with her hair however she pleased, so now her head was surrounded by voluminous red curls cascading far down her back in a bright, carefully arranged ponytail.

She usually wore a braid or a bun, but this was supposed to be a quick half-day assignment before returning to the office. As a result, the precisely trimmed edges of her luxurious hair swayed just above the midpoint of her subdued back, like an arrow leading down to her sculpted young buttocks.